i'll use you as a warning sign
by cyclothimic
Summary: She was tainted, she told him. / He shook his head and repeated, she was the purest thing in his life.


**because buckynat is everything. (oh, and this fic ignores everything brucenat because brucenat is an atrocity) ((and this is my first buckynat fic so please be kind))**

* * *

_I found love_

_Where it wasn't supposed to be,_

_Right in front of me,_

_Talk some sense to me_

_-I Found, Amber Run_

* * *

He was electrifying and monotonous. He was intimidating and amenable. He was powerful, but he was also so soft. He was cruel, but he was also so kind. James, the Winter Soldier, was the embodiment of inconsistencies and contradictions.

And Natalia was so in love with him.

He taught her combat skills, shooting skills, stealth and espionage skills. In return, she taught him to be soft and gentle and kind and _humane_. He touched her as a mean to hurt and train, to hurt and train, and _to hurt and train_. In return, she touched him as a mean to display emotions bordering on _love_ and _care_. He resented her because he wasn't supposed to build a relationship surpassing one of teacher and student with any of the girls. She resented him because he was magnetizing and she wasn't supposed to be so _weak._

Maybe that was how – _why_ – they ended up being the only ones each other could talk to, could understand, could love. Maybe the violence and monstrosity exhibited in their sparring sessions was the result of the electricity sparked in beneath their skins each time they touched. Maybe the heaviness in their eye contact was caused by the weight of their mutual responsibilities and unwillingness.

* * *

Her moment of spontaneity and irresponsibility had put them on a path that would only lead to a dead end and misery, but the journey was so addictive and fun and freeing. She knew she wasn't supposed to make contact with him at any moment except when he was supposed to be their teacher. But she couldn't resist it.

She had been young – sixteen and adolescent and fatal – and she had wanted this man, this mysterious lethal mechanics of a man, to be more than her teacher. She sneaked around cameras with the stealth he taught her, lied to scientists and handlers with espionage skills he passed her, and made it to her destination.

Behind this dull, metal door, there was a man she was irresistibly magnetized to. Natalia gave herself two seconds to back out. And she was frozen there for two seconds. When two seconds passed, she didn't even hesitate when she turned the knob and opened it as slowly as she could, not because she was scared, but because she didn't want to surprise him.

He was laid out on his bed, undressed from the waist up. He looked relaxed and casual, yet she could see from his alarmed eyes and clenched jaw that he was ready to pounce at any moment.

She stepped inside and stayed there, door closed behind her. She let him some time to adjust to his new visitor and the context of her appearance. She let him loosen himself. She watched as his chest took deeper and deeper breaths, indicating his diminishing defensiveness. She took in his left arm, metal and heavy and dangerous, and she wasn't the least bit scared. Instead, she was entranced and curious.

He slowly extended his legs and sat upright, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He stared at her in a mixture of wariness and desire. She saw him gulp visibly: an indication of a nervous state. She couldn't help the tiny uptick of her lips when she realized that he was _nervous_.

He asked what was she doing here? Didn't she know that it's dangerous to be here? Didn't she know that they could both get killed just for her presence here? Get the fuck out of here before they realized she was here.

She had rolled her eyes with each question. She told him that she would follow every other rule they had made for her and do everything they wanted her to do. But she didn't want to let them dictate this. She knew what they had surpassed the relationship between a student and a teacher even if they hadn't spoken more than ten words in their ten days of training together. So, no, she wouldn't get out.

He had pinned her there, his eyes clouded with desire and resistance. She waited for him. Like an eternity had passed between them, he stood up, his abs stretching out to their utmost perfection and his hair floppy and short, his arms flexing with each movement. He approached her until she was staring right into the crest in the middle of his chest, feeling his warmth on her skin, sensing his breath on her hair as he stared down at her.

And then he gently – for the first time ever, he was _so gentle_ – clipped her chin with his flesh thumb and forefinger and lifted her head so their eyes would meet. Only then did she realize how small their proximity was. She only had to surge up and –

His head lowered and their lips fitted together. _Now_ she was scared. She had felt his lips on hers, she knew what it felt like, and she was scared that she would lose all control around him from now on because this was _obviously_ the best thing she'd ever experienced in her sixteen years of life.

Then he pushed her against the door. He took hold under her thighs and elevated her. She automatically wrapped her legs around his hips, breathing his lips in, tasting his tongue. She'd never been so uncontrolled and she was excited. He pulled off her shirt and her singlet. She unbuttoned his pants.

When he was inside her and tore her apart, she decided that she couldn't lose him.

* * *

She was red. She was blood. She was the purest thing in his life.

He told her in a dirty motel room. She was snuggled in his flesh arm; her face buried in his neck, her hands tangled in his hair, his manhood buried so deeply inside her she was determined he was penetrating her soul.

She had just come back from her first mission: to seduce a French diplomat, let him take her to bed, and kill him in his sleep. He had taken a look at her – must have seen her distraught and disgust – and took her in his arms and kissed her with so much fervor that she forgot about her previous encounter.

She didn't have time to retort because she soared so high, her climax hitting her so hard. A minute later, they were breathless and satiated. He rolled off her but didn't pull out. He pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head.

She was tainted, she told him.

He shook his head and repeated, she was the purest thing in his life.

* * *

Natalia realized she loved him when James killed a fellow KGB operative who was jealous of her rapid rise in the ranks and made an attempt on her life. She helped him bury the body and cover up the tracks. And then she pulled him down and kissed him.

She asked him why.

He couldn't lose her. He wouldn't let anyone make her lost to him.

* * *

They took him away before she could tell him she loved him. How they knew, she couldn't figure out. But one night, one of those rare nights when they didn't feel the need to take each other like they craved each other, one of those nights when they were just tangled in each other's arms and talking nonsensically, the door barged open and armed operatives rushed in.

Two men dragged him away from her, despite her yells and cried for them not to. He went out the door, not without a fight. But they sedated him. And then she was faced with her handler. He looked simultaneously furious and smug.

Did she honestly expect them to be oblivious and not catch up to what was going on? Did she honestly expect them to not notice the way James always asked for her to be his partner in various missions? Did she honestly expect them to tolerate this nonsense?

_Love is for children_.

* * *

James was the only thread that reserved her humanity. Now that he was gone and she couldn't find him, she was cruel and unforgiving. She did her missions as asked. She offered her body to many fat, sloppy men like it was nothing. She completed her missions without so much as a slight. Her handler told her she was the closest to being appointed Black Widow.

Soon enough, she was married off to Alexi Shostakov. He was a pilot. She was an assassin. She hated him at first, because she couldn't help but see the resemblance of him and _him_. Alexi was gentle and kind. He seemed to understand her anger and resentment even though he knew nothing of her liaison with James. Months passed before she softened to him.

She grew to love him. She couldn't love him as much as she loved James. She couldn't love anyone as much as she loved James. But she could love Alexi as much as she could _love_. It wasn't the kind of life consuming emotion that engulfed her like it did with James. It was quiet and tender.

They were _happy_. The agency stopped asking her to offer her body in her missions. She was grateful for that. And then two years later, he died of a rocket test.

She realized that no man would be safe with her. She was a magnet for bitter endings and misery. She was fated to be alone and deadly.

She went back to the Red Room. She did things with more precision. She grew more ruthless. She had no care in the world but the succession of assignments. She couldn't care less about her death. She relentlessly complied to needles poking into her, 'treating' her. She couldn't feel the pain because she _knew_ pain. And this was nowhere close.

She was then awarded the title, Black Widow.

And she couldn't care less.

* * *

She did sophisticated wet jobs for the government for the following 40 – 50? – years. They said it was for the good of the country. They said it was to protect the country from the invasion of parasite forces, like the Americans.

But honestly? Natalia had stopped caring. She just did it because she lost all care for the world. She lost the one she loved most and she lost the one she held dear. She hadn't anything to lose. She could die and she wouldn't regret it.

But they did things to her. They injected serums. They experimented on her. They took away her ability to bear children. They made her ageless. She'd been alive for sixty years, and she looked no older than twenty-five. She saw so many things. She was accomplice and operative in so many assignments, most of which would change history.

And then one day, an eagle found her. He was the first to outsmart her in fifty years. She wanted him to kill her. She was sure it was his _job _to kill her. But he didn't. She asked him to kill her with a smile, and he asked her what her pain was.

She lost her smile. And she looked him right in the eyes. She was going to die anyway so why hide it?

She told him she missed _him _too damn much.

* * *

She died. She died when he shot the sedative arrow into her. And then she woke up and she was reborn.

Natasha Romanoff.

They didn't cuff her. They didn't put her in a cell. They didn't inject a tracking device under her skin. They didn't put two guards that she could easily take down to monitor her movements. They didn't do anything.

The first person she met when she woke up was Agent Maria Hill. The woman was cold and calculating and utterly devoted to SHIELD.

She was told that Agent Clint Barton – the eagle, _Hawkeye_ – had taken her here, used himself as an insurance to make sure she was unharmed. She was told that she'd been unconscious for a day. She was told that the Director of SHIELD was in progress of issuing a permanent visa for her. She was told that she could either leave or stay and work for them.

She had too much red on her ledger. She was advised to stay here and wipe it off.

* * *

It took her time – almost a year – but she managed to gain Level 10 clearance and she managed to gain their trust in her as an agent of SHIELD. For the first time, she felt something that resembled happiness but wasn't happiness breed in her chest.

She gained a best friend in Clint Barton, a trustworthy ally in Maria Hill and an authoritative fatherly figure in Nick Fury. She asked them to keep the fact that she was more than seventy years old out of her files. She asked them to fake her birth date in her files.

Why?

She looked down at her wrist, where once upon a time James used to kiss before he overtook her completely. She told them her real birth date was the reminder of how she was young and naïve and stupid; the things they did to her; the lessons they taught her. She didn't tell them she lost the one man she ever loved during that time.

She was born in November 22nd, 1984.

* * *

James was alive, and fatal as ever.

She knew because she saw him. She was buried under a crumpled piece of truck and she didn't even know how she extracted herself. She pulled the engineer in time to see _him_ standing just twenty feet away from them. The snow was heavy and white and clean and they were black dirty specks contaminating the pure white.

He was holding a gun. He aimed to kill her and the engineer. She got in front of the engineer and called his name. She called him so many times. Her throat was dry and her lips were chapped and her brain hurt so much because she missed him so much and he was _right there_.

And then he killed the engineer through her.

_The Winter Soldier _was alive. James was gone.

* * *

Natasha and Maria scoffed when Fury pitched them the idea. He sat them down in his office and showed them a comprehensive slideshow on what they could accomplish if they assembled a team like that. He was hopeful that Steve Rogers, Captain America, would wake up at any time now. He was cynical when it came to recruiting Tony Stark.

He asked her to be one of the Avengers. He asked Maria to be his second-in-command in the initiative. Maria was skeptical and doubtful. Natasha wasn't surprised. The woman could always see ten steps ahead, but Fury could see about two thousand steps ahead.

Natasha figured there wasn't anything better to do and it seemed fun, to fight enemies more challenging than common pirates and such. So she agreed.

* * *

Yeah, she'd never imagined that being an Avenger would require her to fight gods and aliens, let alone _defeat_ gods and aliens.

It wasn't until she finished tricking Loki that it came to her how big and hazardous this entire thing was. And she was excited and scared. She was starting to feel valuable and worthy and she really didn't want to die now. Plus, she just tricked the _God of Trickery_. It kind of planted a sense of triumph in her.

She was also worried sick for her best friend. Believe it or not, Clint and she had managed to build a relationship more than friends but less than romantic. She believed that nothing else could replace that. And she swore she would do _anything_ to get him back, even killing a god.

Because Clint was the second man in her life that she thought she could fully trust. She didn't think she could get that again.

* * *

Because she was a woman. She knew she wouldn't be credited for the things she'd done and sacrificed during the Battle of New York. She wouldn't be recognized for her efforts when she walked down the streets. She wouldn't be mentioned in the media about how _she_ was the one who closed the portal with scepter.

Because she was a woman.

She was born in 1928. She'd lived along these prejudices and stereotypes for her whole life. She didn't expect it to change. People didn't change. On the rare chance they did, they usually changed for the worse.

She let the people laud Iron Man and Captain America as the heroes. She let people appraised Hulk and Hawkeye for their hard work in suppressing the extraterrestrial enemies. She nodded as the girls and guys alike swooned over Thor's arms and dreamy eyes.

She let them do that, because she knew that in their team, she was the one feared most. Not Hulk, not Thor, but her. Iron Man, Captain America, and the rest, they were afraid of her the most.

She was unpredictable and cunning and absolutely lethal with even a stapler. She could do all that and they knew it.

That's all she needed.

* * *

Natasha tasted – felt – something familiar when she kissed Steve. She was well aware that it was just a diversion tactic, which shouldn't mean anything. But when her lips touched Steve, she tasted the history, his oldness, the ancient blood in his veins, and the wisdom in his mind.

It reminded her of James. It reminded her of his arm looped around her waist when they finished. It reminded her of his cold fingers brushing her hair with so much softness. It reminded her of the words she didn't get to say to him before they were taken apart.

* * *

Natasha sneaked into the Smithsonian once she was treated and they were all asleep, resting their minds for the war they were going to wage tomorrow.

It was her first time here and it was dark.

She used her flashlight and began wandering, searching for something; for _Bucky_. And then she found it.

A plaque specially made for James Buchanan Barnes with a brief history printed under his name. He had a date of death. Except he wasn't really dead. He just turned into someone else.

She stared at the headshot of James. He was smirking and she remembered that smirk, it was seared into her mind. And there was a twinkle in his eyes she'd never seen in her life. It was something else.

It was him. He was happy.

She fled before she allowed her emotions to flood her.

* * *

SHIELD fell and she moved around the world for a few months. She refused to admit it but she was looking for James herself. She just wasn't actively looking for him; she just searched for his familiar face or familiar figure among the crowds.

Clint persuaded her to move into Stark's newly built and improved Avengers tower even though he himself was living on a lame farm with a wife he definitely did not deserve. She relented after two weeks and she was given a floor, just above Bruce's.

She started going on missions with the Avengers, taking out Russian and German forces, looking up and down for the scepter. It was a distraction, a really nice distraction. She didn't have to think about how James was alive but not really and the scar on her abdomen.

And then Ultron happened and it was really a whole other level of messed up. The Witch – Wanda Maximoff – had messed up her mind real good. She remembered everything. The sterilization, the needles, the shootings, the handcuffs, _James_.

James was telling her to let go, to join him. They could go home. They could rest. This would all be over.

And then Clint shook her awake and told her to get her shit together because there was an evil robot out there hell bent on eliminating human race and they needed to stop him.

In short, she didn't have time to think about James.

* * *

Six months after the whole Ultron ordeal and they had something close to a team but not really a team, she got a call from Tony, of all people, telling her to get to the Tower immediately.

She took a jet and went. She stopped short in the living room. Steve and Tony were there, but they weren't the only ones there. There was someone else.

The man had a cap to get ahold of his hair and he wore a hoodie that barely fit and he was hunched over on the couch and he was barely recognizable.

But she could recognize him anywhere.

He looked up and stared at her with those electrifyingly mind numbing blue eyes.

And he said her name with that softness and kindness she remembered.

_Natalia_.

* * *

**i think it's pretty obvious that there _would_ be a follow-up.**


End file.
